


A Summer's Day

by elletromil



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, First Meetings, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Meet-Cute, Shakespearean Sonnets, Tiny tiny amount of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-02
Updated: 2016-08-02
Packaged: 2018-07-28 18:54:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7652890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elletromil/pseuds/elletromil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Harry doesn’t sigh when he notices the empty bench in the familiar corner of the park. He had not gone on a walk with the intention to come here, but since Mr. Pickle has died a month ago, his feet continuously lead him to what had been their usual spot to waste a lazy afternoon away.</i>
</p><p>In which Harry recites poetry to a pug in a park.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Summer's Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [InsaneRedDragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsaneRedDragon/gifts), [Lady Mephistopheles (Neko_wa)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neko_wa/gifts).



> This is based on [this post on tumblr](http://elletromil.tumblr.com/post/148248197758) and can be blamed on lady-mephistopheles and insanereddragon two wonderful enablers <3
> 
> The bits in italics are taken from Shakespeare Sonnets, number 18 and 25

Harry doesn’t sigh when he notices the empty bench in the familiar corner of the park. He had not gone on a walk with the intention to come here, but since Mr. Pickle has died a month ago, his feet continuously lead him to what had been their usual spot to waste a lazy afternoon away.

At least, this time he remembered to bring a book with him and won’t feel too pathetic sitting alone with nothing to do but watching others live their lives.

He has just sat down, hasn’t even open his book yet when he feels something bumping gently against his shin and hears a pitiful yip.

He looks down and is greeted by the sight of a pug. Before he can think better of it, he bends down to pat the dog on top of his head, but the pug doesn’t seem to mind, simply shuffle closer until he’s nearly sitting on his oxfords, little tail wiggling, and yips again in what sounds like contentment when Harry starts scratching behind his ears.

He’s missed this, being able to bring happiness to another so simply, and he blinks rapidly in order not to start crying over how much he misses Mr Pickle right now. As if sensing his emotional instability, the pug starts licking his hand with enthusiast, making Harry breaks into laughter instead of simply breaking down pathetically in the middle of a park.

He continues petting the dog for a moment more before he stops and tries to shoo him away. He’s noticed right away that the dog has a collar and Harry has no doubt that such a sweet creature can’t have run that far away from its owner. The dog must have simply felt Harry loneliness and come brighten his day a bit.

Harry scoffs at his own thoughts, but finally relents in trying to make the pug go away when the dog simply settles more comfortably against his oxfords, looking as if nothing could make him budge from his place.

“Won’t your owner come looking for you?”

His only answer is a yawn and what seems to be an expectant look from the dog.

“Alright then, suit yourself. But don’t complain if you don’t like poetry,” he shrugs before opening his book on where he left off.

“ _Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?  
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:  
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,  
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date…_”

He might feel a bit more self-conscious if it wasn’t for his canine audience, but it has always been Harry’s opinion that poetry should be read out loud to be appreciated to its fullest. The pug isn’t complaining at least, looking at Harry as if enraptured and it makes his heart pangs slightly.

It couldn’t be more different than how he used to recite poetry to Mr Pickle in the comfort of his home at night, dressed in his pajamas, the little terrier half asleep on his lap, and yet it leaves Harry with the same feeling of serenity.

So lost he is in the moment, that it takes him a while before he realises a young man has sat down besides him on the bench and is listening to him with his eyes closed and the softest smile on his lips.

The young man opens his eyes as soon as Harry stops reciting, his expression now a mix of embarrassment and disappointment.

“Sorry, I didn’t want to intrude, but JB seemed to be liking you reading out to him and well you got a nice voice, so I thought I’d enjoy it too while I could?” His cheeks are the most becoming red, but he looks completely unapologetic. Not that he should be really, Harry’s the one reading out loud in a public place. It’s not like the young man invaded his privacy and anyway, the leash he holds in his hands make it clears that he’s got a perfectly legitimate reason to be there.

“No need to apologize, I should have tried to find his owner instead of indulging in his company,” he replies with a wave to the pug still at his feet.

The young man laughs at that and bend down to give the pug a good rubbing, but makes no move to put his leash back on and leave.

When he sits back on the bench properly, he extends a hand that Harry doesn’t hesitate one second before shaking. “Name’s Gary Unwin, but everyone call me Eggsy, don’t ask why.”

“Harry Hart. It’s a pleasure to meet you Eggsy,” he smiles in return and he feels like there are a thousand butterflies flying around in his stomach when Eggsy hand lingers in his far longer than should be appropriate.

“You’re gonna read some more? I mean, I’ve got nowhere to be right now and I don’t really get the occasion to hear Shakespeare’s Sonnets that often.” There is something wistful in his expression and for the first time in his life Harry understand why some men would go to war for love. Not that he is in love, at least, _not yet_ , but he would do anything to bring back the little glint of happy mischief he had spied in Eggsy’s eyes at first. “If you don’t mind the audience that is,” the young man adds, making Harry realised he’s stayed silent a moment to long.

“No, of course not. Shakespeare should always be shared anyway.” For a second, Harry forgets how to breath at the delighted smile that blossoms on Eggsy’s lips over his answer. He quickly shakes himself out of it and picks up the book again, continuing where he interrupted himself earlier.

“ _...Then happy I, that love and am beloved,  
Where I may not remove nor be removed._”

Eggsy closes his eyes again before moving slightly closer to Harry and really this is very unlike himself to be so impulsive with someone who is as good as a stranger, but putting his arms around the young man’s shoulders seems like the most natural thing he’s done in his entire life. Eggsy’s little sigh of contentment just makes everything better and Harry has never been more happy before that he’s known Shakespeare’s Sonnets by heart since he was but a boy. That way, he can keep on looking over Eggsy’s oh so gentle expression without having to look even once at the book that now lays forgotten on his lap.


End file.
